The Morals
by Khoshekh42
Summary: What happens when you come under the employment of James Moriarty? or Mycroft Holmes? If you'd like a tip than please read. Setup like Aesop's Fable with a moral at the end of each story
1. Jim Moriarty- Seb

The Morals of one Jim Moriarty

Sebastian Moran was the favorite sniper, and gradually friend of Jim Moriarty. He started working (and befriending) Jim when Sebastian was sent as an assassin, to kill Jim, bit all that changed… He could still remember the creepy grin on Moriarty's face, and his slow words, _'Hello, Sebastian. You don't have to assassinate me you know, I can offer you so much more than your current employer can. I know you'll come, but as some extra incentive… Well, do you like shoes? I can have you become them if you'd like.'_ It was the best night of Sebastian's life. If he were to look back, Sebastian would decide that the only thing he might change would be coming into the employment of Jim as soon as possible, and much sooner that he actually did. Moriarty had trusted Sebastian since Sebastian had first walked in the door with the intent of killing him, and Sebastian thought he could never repay him for the instant trust the man had given him. Until…

Sebastian never wanted it to happen, but one cannot change the future one doesn't know about. It was a cold September night, his orders were to stay still, and wait for his signal, and at no cost would he give away his position. Simple instructions. But who knew that he wouldn't end up able to follow them? The gunshot had rung out through the abandoned building like it had been put on speakers. Sebastian was crouching, horrified but afraid to move. He flashed back to back at their flat when they had been talking, about a month ago.

"I used to have another sniper, but he got… Snipered? Sniped? Got killed via different sniper himself." At this Sebastian had looked slightly alarmed, but of course Jim picked it up. "Oh, no need to worry Seb! I didn't just kill for no apparent reason, but now that I think back, I may have overreacted; he was just getting a snack, and the subject would be there for at least twenty minutes… Oh well! I'm glad he got shot; you're a much better sniper that he ever was!" Sebastian wasn't sure if he should feel pleased by the compliment, or chilled that Jim had had a man shot because he'd gotten a snack. He didn't ever decide. Sebastian Moran had learned a very valuable lesson that day; NEVER disobey the orders of Jim Moriarty.

Sebastian made his move, he made a quick job of shooting the subject, a one Jake Avery brought in for who knew what; he then scampered down to where Jim lay. Sebastian crouched by the man for a moment, trying to figure out what he should do, when Jim started to speak,

"Seb, you abandoned your post… Why?"

"You were dying… I- I- I couldn't let you."

"Oh," Then,

"Thank You"

_ Moral: Don't abandon your post when working for Jim Moriarty- Unless your name happens to be Sebastian Moran _


	2. Jim Moriarty- Fire

"Bloody hell, Jim! Just quit it with the fire already, you've already burnt the flat down once; I don't exactly want it to happen again. I really don't like having to tell the owner of the flat that his house was burnt down while he was a way 'cause you lit all the matches at once and put them in a pile in the sitting room to watch 'em burn, JUST BECAUSE YOU WERE BORED!" Sebastian Moran's sudden outburst surprised Jim, who just started blinking, "But-"

"No, Jim! I don't care if you like it because it's destructive, or warm, or jus- jus- just- just- _fire_, don't burn matches in the house!"

"I like the fire for all of those reasons," Jim put the match he'd been staring at drop into the sink. "Also, it's pretty." Sebastian stared at Jim for a moment, "Why am I surprised? Of course _you'd_ think it's pretty." Jim started to look annoyed. "What if I needed to light a candle?"

"I got you that candle heating plate when you killed the shelf."

"Killed the shelf!" The psychopathic mastermind sounded indignant, "It was only scorched a bit!"

"'Scorched a bit? _Scorched_ a bit?! It was reduced to ashes! And we still can't get the stain off the wall from when you somehow got a hold of that stupid flamethrower!" Jim looked positively scary at this "It wasn't stupid." He then just walked away calmly. Seb bit his lower lip, and hoped he wouldn't be killed.

Later that night, Jim Moriarty, Consulting Criminal, and genius, decided to do something about his friend's audacity. Complaining about Jim. Jim could have him killed! But he would never think of doing that. He was a good sniper. Jim was still going to make him pay though. So he slipped into Sebastian's room, hoping that the man was a very heavy sleeper. Moriarty, quietly, and carefully slipped the handcuffs over Seb's hand and foot, and clicked it into place. Then he dug the key for the handcuffs from his pocket and put it on the center of his tongue. Jim grimaced, in his opinion the key tasted too metallic-ey. Using his tongue, he pushed the key to the back of his mouth, and swallowed.

"Grachk!" Jim's sudden hacking awoke Moran, who promptly fell out of bed.

"Jim…? What the-? JIM!"

"Mm- Erg- Well that's done, good, that thing didn't taste very pleasant."

"Jim, you've had your fun-"

"You think swallowing a piece of metal this long is fun? You have an odd sort of sense of fun. I'd rather go camping, for the campfire!"

"Metal? Why were you swallowing metal…? Oh, forget it! You've had your fun, now get this thing off of me!"

"No,"

"Why is that?" Moran's voice lowered to a growl.

"Because I can't" Jim spoke this sentence with delight.

"What do mean you 'can't'?"

"Because I don't have the key anymore."

"Anymore? Meaning?"

"I swallowed it!" Sebastian half jumped half fell toward Jim in an attempt to strangle him "I WILL KILL YOU JIM, I SWEAR I WILL!" Finally, Jim ran.

It took the entire day to get the handcuffs off, with many knives, cuts, scrapes, bangs, yells, threats, crowbars, screams, hammers, shrieks, throbbing thumbs, and hairpins. Eventually though, Jim (and his throbbing thumb) was able to pick the lock with a lock picking kit (that he'd just conveniently forgotten about until then). Later on that day Sebastian could hear Jim making a phone call.

"Yes hello? …I'm Richard Moran, a friend of mine, erm, swallowed a key, and we're- …. Yes a key…. Like a house key, a bit smaller… I don't know how big it was exactly, he swallowed it! Anyway we're wondering what might happen, like are there any internal problems we should worry about- … Um, this morning….. That doesn't help…. I- He's not coming in… He doesn't want to…. He's a germaphobe…. Jus- He's not coming in, alright… um- just- hey! Shut up or I'll kill you in your pitiful sleep! Hello? Hello?_ Hello? _Urgh!"

_Moral: Don't dare anger Jim Moriarty_


	3. Jim Moriarty- Leprechaun

"Leprechaun!" Sebastian joked. Jim spun around slowly, the top hat he was wearing sliding down his forehead about an inch. "What did you call me?"

"Leprechaun" He said the word now with a tone that was with much less boldity then before. Jims eyebrows went up, now invisible beneth his hat, and he was clearly saying 'why'. Sebastian gained some of his courage back, "Well, from behind you've got the hat, you've go the height, and in the sunlight your suit looks kinda green" Jim just stared at Moran.

"Sorry," Sebastian sounded nervous,, and ever so slightly frightend of what Jim would do to him later. "I'll take the comment back then" Jim still stared at him.

"Ooh Mummy, look! It's a Leprechaun!" A little girl with short, brown pigtails, and a polka-dotted dress was now pointing at Jim. He blinked and looked down at the girl, and spoke in his creepiest voice possible. "Fire is hot. Fire will _burn_, you… if you don't watch out" The tiniest flicker of a smile came up on his lips. The girl's mother pulled her daughter close, and walked off at a quick pace muttering, "Don't listen to him Suzie, he's a freak, don't listen to him!" Jim just hailed a cab and closed the door without letting Sebastian in.

Later that night, soon after dinner. Sebastian stretched and yawned, "I'm suddenly REALLY tired, I'm gonna head to bed." Jim nodded. Five minutes later found Jim inside of Sebastian's room, working busily with an electric razor.

At sven the next morning Sebastian, woke up, cooked breakfast for he and Jim and ate, burshed his teeh, and-

"JIM! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT?!"

"Slept-really well actually- why? By the way you don't have any eyebrows, did you know that?" Seb growled, and peered into the mirror, as if doing that would make his eyebrows grow back faster.

"Right, why did you do it? How did I annoy you enough to cause you to do this?" Sebastian motioned at his upper face, where his eyebrows should have been.

"Have you ever heard of a Leprechaun?"

_Moral: Never mention the word 'Leprechaun' within hearing dictance of Jim._


	4. Jim Moriarty- Ginger Bread

"Doo da de de daa, da da de de da, da da dee de de daa, da daa de de da, da de de de de doo doo, da da de dooo -"

"Jim, you're humming. Why?

"'Cause it's _Don't Look Back in Anger_! And I just heard it on the radio, so… Anyway I'm making gingerbread cookies!"

"Why?" Jim's face fell

"'Cause I like them." He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Sebastian rolled his eyes and went into the living room, where he could now hear Jim, who was singing:

"And Sooo Sally can wait, she knows it's too late as she's walkin' on by, my soul slides away.. But don't look back in anger, I heard you say!"

"Jim do NOT obsess over that song AGAIN!"

"I was not obsessing!"

"You were."

"But it's SHERLOCK!" Jim said seemingly in submission to the fact that he had, indeed been obsessing a month earlier.

"You were trying to find a connection to Sherlock in EVERY LINE!"

"And it worked… Kinda…" Jim stayed quiet, and- thankfully in Sebastian's opinion- didn't sing anymore, though if he listened , Sebastian could hear him humming faintly.

The phone rang. Jim hurried out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on the Gingerbread man apron he was wearing. "I've got it!" He called, though Sebastian was making no attempt to answer the ring ing phone. Jim went in to total serious mode instantaneously and went into the back room to speak.

Alost a half an hour Moriarty came back into the room, "Are you trying to get yourself killed Jerrenson?... I didn't think so, now… DO IT!" Jim thrust the phone back onto it's receiver, the man definaltely looked odd glaring at an object while wearing a blue apron with a smiling Gingerbread man on it. "Well that was bothersome." His eyebrows scrunched together, and he sniffed the air. Sebastian did the same. And at the same instant they both silently agreeing on what the odd smell was. Burning.

"My cookies!" Jim rushed into the kitchen and –shoving on an oven mitt on- pulled the burning cookies out of the oven. The psychopath's face fell at the burnt-to-a-crisp cookies. He threw the tray onto the counter, staring at them and if they'd let him down in some horrible way that only deserved death- which to Jim, that was probably true. Sebastian sighed, "Just make another bat-"

"No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no, Nooo, I'll make another batch later, but now…" Jim was now starting to grin. "Sherlock. I'm going to send it to Sherlock, oh he'll LOVE IT!" his voice was starting to fluxuate like it always did when he got excited.

"Why the hell would you send a burnt Gringerbread man to Sherlock?"

"I am going to burn his heart out, I'll start wih the gingerbread. Plus, it's part of fairy tale theme, Hansel and Gretal."

"… Right… Ookay… I won't question it…"

_Moral: Just don't qustion the oddities or strange manner of Jim._


	5. Mycroft Holmes- Reunion

The Morals of one Mycroft Holmes

Tiberius Holmes was probaly one of the more _normal _of the Holmes' (if you can say that about any of them). This, of course, caused him to be quite an abnormal Holmes. Though he was the one that Mycroft was most friendly with- well I say friendly. But Mycroft was anything but friendly when he got a letter in the post.

Anthea came into the room with the mail "Looks like you've gotten an invite to another one of those important government functions you always hate going to." She held up the envolope. Mycroft glanced up from the laptop "Oh, good Lord, I'm not going!" Anthea looked startled, "So you know who the letter's from?" Mycroft nodded without looking up from the laptop again.

"But social niceities, I thought-?" Mycroft let out a short, hard laugh. "Oh, don't worry about 'Social Niceties' It's not a government function." Anthea furrowed her brow "Then who's it from?" Mycroft peered over the top of the laptop, and stared his PA directly in the eye. " It's for a family reunion."

Anthea blinked a few times before responding "A family reunion? Like, a Holmes family reunion? With all of the Holmes' in one area?"

"Yes." Mycroft's response sounded bored. Anthea grinned a smile worthy of the Consulting Criminal, "Oh, you are SO going to this thing! I'm RSVPing right now." Mycroft looked up with an expression of horror on his face, "What? No! I can't go!"

"Why's that?" The response was joking. Anthea was opening the letter to find an RSVP number. The British Government seemed flustered by the question, "I- I- I- I… I have a meeting to go to! Anthea just arrange a meeting for whenever the reunion is. Please?"

"Ooh, begging! Not going to help though!" She'd found the number, and was beginning to dial. Mycroft stood up to try to take the phone away from her, but he was too late.

"Hi! I'm Anthea, Mycroft's Personal Assistant, he will be attending the reunion, yes . Thank you!" And she hung up.

"I hate you."

"I know you do!" Anthea replied cheerfully. "Just think of all the desserts I'm _sure_ they'll have there…" Mycroft just shook his head, and his expression told Anthea that, now, he really hated her.

The next few days went by with very little excitement. There were no threats of blowing up the world (or London), no danger of a World War III (which had happened on several occasions, Mycroft was able to smooth it all over though. However he hoped it wouldn't happen again, he was getting tired of the legwork in involved), no horrible disasters that would change the planet; and honestly, Mycroft was getting worried. He had hoped that some slightly major catastrophe would arise, and he could get out of going to the reunion. Anyone who knew Mycroft really well knew how little he enjoyed social functions. It was horrible to have to actually go to the things, even though at times it seemed as though his entire job revolved around social functions. The only reason Mycroft bothered to go to them at all, was because of 'Social Niceties'. Social Niceties meant, basically, that he had to keep up his public image so he wouldn't seem like a horrible person that nobody wanted to work with. Sometimes Mycroft really wanted to screw Social Niceties. He envied Sherlock, who could speak his mind and no one would care. Social Niceties didn't mean that he had to go to his family reunions though, he honestly didn't care what his own family thought about him, as, compared to them, Mycroft was NORMAL. But it had come, and still, Mycroft had no excuse not to go. He knew that nothing short of the end of the world would make Anthea let him stay at the office. So when 3:30 came, Anthea dragged him (not literally obviously) out of the office so they would arrive at the reunion at four.

They arrived at four exactly. The event was only just starting, and Mycroft knew (and dreaded) that they would have to stay until the end.

"Mycroft, I didn't expect you to be here," John sounded surprised. Mycroft turned to look at him, "And I didn't expect Sherlock to be here." He responded coolly. Sherlock glared at Mycroft. John grinned, "I tricked him into coming. His phone was charging, so I told him Lestrade had called and said that there was a case here, I hadn't told him the time, day, or location of the reunion, so I knew he would fall for it. Double murder." Mycroft nodded. Sherlock grumbled something. Although he never heard what Sherlock would have to say on the matter, as an energetic five year old came crashing into them

"Sherlock!" The kid sounded overwhelmed, and had Sherlock's hair, eyes, and general curiosity. Sherlock glanced down at the young, wide-eyed toddler. "Richie! I wasn't thinking you'd be here. Has Jimmy arrived? I would assume Mycroft would want to speak with him." Sherlock's mouth twitched up in the corner, and his eyes got an amused glint to them.

"I dunno about Jimmy, but Mummy says that she'll be wanting to 'have a talk with that Mr. Sherlock Holmes.'"

"Did she? I sure that will be ABSOLUTELY delightful." Sherlock's voice dripped with sarcasm. Richie began to grin even wider, "Talks with my mummy are always delightful!"

Sherlock seemed amused. "Go on, shoo, come back in twenty, with as many deductions as you can come up with about three random people here." Richie ran off, eager to please the Consulting Detective. Mycroft stared after him, "I don't think he's quite got the handle on sarcasm yet."

"I think he's got it fine for his age!" Sherlock retorted

"You just don't want to say a bad word about him since you've always got along, because you've got the same hairstyle, which I know is so important to you." Mycroft answered calmly.

"That, was a kid." John said amusedly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in saying that John was stating the obvious.

"What were your exact words?" John continued, "'I don't like them, children are all sticky.'" Sherlock turned away as if he hadn't heard John

"And what did I say about you and Richie?" Mycroft retorted smoothly. Sherlock turned to face Mycroft, "Oh, and you and Jimmy get along fine I see, you like him because he admires you and wants to be a 'Secret Government Spy Agent', which is what he thinks you are." Sherlock spat. Anthea seemed amused by this. Mycroft glanced at the now giggling Anthea ("Secret Government Spy Agent!") "Oh, shut up!" This only made her laugh harder.

"Mycroft! I never expected you to be here! Thought you'd be off saving some- well I'm not supposed to talk about it am I?" The man who walked up seemed like he was friendly, a large contrast to most of the people attending the reunion. Mycroft gave him a forced smile. "Tiberius, pleasure."

"So, how are you and your girlfriend?"

Mycroft replied quickly, "Ah, we're not together."

"Riiiight…" Tiberius winked.

"No, really we're not together. Anthea is just my PA." Mycroft sounded strained. Tiberius's eyes lit up. "Ooh, inter-office romance! Scandalous!" Sherlock snorted. Mycroft spun to glare at him. Sherlock countered, just in an attempt to annoy Mycroft, "I see you brought your umbrella, are you expecting to be attacked? Or are you simply bringing it to threaten a few relatives in an attempt to get yourself kicked out."

"Oooh, burn!" The Holmes brothers gave Tiberius identical strange looks. John muttered, "And they say they're nothing alike" but no one heard. Tiberius blinked, "What? Burn. Its saying: ooh he gotcha! Burn, he got you." Tiberius waved it off, "Whatever! You two aren't normal anyway. But here you are, and I'm the weird one… Oh well!" Tiberius shrugged. John blinked, "Right, Er- Shall we go inside? I'm starved." So, Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Anthea, and Tiberius all headed to the roomy, elegant house. On the way, Tiberius kept a running commentary on the people surrounding them, "Oh! There's the Oswald's; Father -James, Mother -Abigail, Then the son whose initials are OOO, standing for Oswald Oswald Oswald. Yeah… I've always thought they were a bit off… And there's Robert Shaw talking- or blinking- to Marissa, he never speaks, only blinks in Morse Code. And- Oh, dear. Let's hurry up, I don't like them lot." The group of ten or so Tiberius was indicating were all huddled together. Every one of them was tall, pale, and dressed only in black. One was eying Sherlock's coat with envy. When they got inside, Tiberius explained. "That group that we passed has been dubbed the 'Vampire clan' They don't mind it either! They use it themselves."

"There is absolutely no reason to be scared of them, I know one of them, Zorrin, perfectly normal." Sherlock interrupted "As Holmes standards go."

The next few hours passed uneventfully; Sherlock got yelled at by Richie's mother, Richie came back and reported his deductions to Sherlock (91% of which were correct, and could have been added on by 47%), and Jimmy finally arrived and had a long conversation with Mycroft and Tiberius (who had just ended up butting himself into the discussion) about spy technology.

"Well I will have to disagree; best spy tech has got to be the old-fashioned mirror." Tiberius was explaining, "Looking around corners or behind you… Simple, old, and effective." Jimmy was agreeing with Mycroft that any type of disguise was always better than a mirror, "If you have a good disguise, than you would have no need to have to look behind you!"

"Of course Mycroft thinks disguise is best," Sherlock droned, "What with his umbre-"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" Suddenly a woman screamed, cutting him off, "OH, OH oh oh ohmygoditsadeadbody…." The whole room turned to look at the woman who'd shrieked. Sherlock immediately stood up, and hurried over to the room she was pointing into. Mycroft stood and picked up his umbrella, "I'd best be off then, Good day to you John. Lots to get done. Anthea."

"You don't care. Of course not. Someone in your family just got murdered and Mycroft Holmes doesn't care. Of course!" John seemed irritated. He turned to go follow Sherlock into the room.

"John," John turned around.

"All lives end, all hearts are broken, caring is not an advantage."

_Moral: Mycroft Holmes doesn't care. Ever._


	6. Mycroft Holmes- PA

Mycroft sifted through all of his papers and sighed. He'd finally gotten a new PA, and he'd hated every second of it, the tedium was unbearable. Mycroft just sent a quick, to the point email telling her- Anne Hope- she'd gotten the job, what day to start coming to the office, and what time. He eventually got to sit back and not have to worry about anyth- There was a knock at the door. Mycroft groaned inwardly, "Come in!" Jefferson walked in and handed him a folder saying Harrison wanted him to se it. Mycroft flipped through the file until Jefferson left. Then he threw it on his desk. It could wait until after he's had his coffee.

"Hello!" The woman practically bounced into his office. She had bleached blond har, her eyes an almost cold blue, yet completely average in every other way. But way to cheery "Anna Hope- but you already know that from the interviews, I'm a bit nervous, with the new job and all." Mycroft nodded slowly. "I hope you won't mind taking on an alias.

"Not at all!" Still too cheery.

"Then for a while you'll be starting as Angela, not too different from your real name, so that you have time to get used to it.

It was rough. Mycroft couldn't work with cheerful people 24/7. But this was better than having to trudge through the tedious process of finding a new PA. Besides this the first few days were smooth and uneventful. But at the end of the week the first file had disappeared, the next week a project failed, the next, three separate files that people said they'd delivered had vanished. By the end of the month Mycroft could tie it all to one person.

"Why do you think you're here Ms. Hope?"

"This is Warehouse Six. This is where people go to disappear."

"Good deduction." Mycroft never liked Warehouse Six. Warehouse one could be tedious, anything involving Sherlock. Warehouse two was just for threatening. Warehouse three wasn't a warehouse, but a very private location for making deals out of the way of prying eyes. Warehouse four was for if someone had already been to another, and Mycroft wanted to seem impressive. Warehouse five was non-existent, only used in code, if he was in danger.

"I was hoping you'd inform me of your boss's real name, Emily Lowery." Emily winced.

"George Wells isn't his real name, so what is?" Mycroft started to twirl his umbrella dangerously, while slowly backing her up against all wall. Emily was now looking at it nervously. "I won't tell you, I only know his first name anyway."

"Are you absolutely certain that's your final answer, it would save you a lot of pain."

"That's my final answer." Her voice shook.

"Pity."

And when Mycroft left Warehouse Six that night, Emily Lowery had disappeared.

_Moral: Don't be a spy._


	7. Mycroft Holmes- Anthea

It was raining. Mycroft was soaked, and panicked. The rain beat down on his head and was ruining his suit. He didn't care. He tried to think back to that morning, for some clue, some hint as to why this was happening.

_"Your coffee, sir." Anthea set the cup on his desk; Mycroft stared at it for a moment before picking it up. "You're amazing," She smiled, and picked up a stack of papers that needed to be filed, Mycroft sighed, "You __are__ amazing."_

It wasn't helping. Mycroft stared at his watch, only three and a half hours left and no clues at all. He needed more time! Mycroft tried going back to that morning, what happened after Anthea filed the papers?

_There was a sharp knock on the door. Mycroft looked up from his laptop, "Come in." Harrison walked, "Stevens says there's something wrong with security, sir." Damn "I'll be right there." He was at the door when the crack of thunder told him that it had started to rain. Mycroft signaled to Anthea to follow him._

Mycroft realized that none of this was helping, but he knew that he was getting closer. He gave in, realizing he needed help. He texted Sherlock with details, he wouldn't care to try to hear him over the sound of the rain. It was an unfortunately rather short text, but the response was almost immediate. _Turn around_. Mycroft turned very slowly. Sherlock was standing on the other side of the road under the protection of one of Mycroft's umbrellas. The Consulting Detective strode across the street, and instead of taunting Mycroft like Mycroft had been sure he was going to do he asked, "What happened this morning?"

_Stevens was working furiously at his computer, "All of security at your house is down, I can't get it back up yet." Mycroft stared at the computer screen, but couldn't begin to understand what was happening, "Do you think it could've been the storm?" Stevens looked up at him for a moment, "Might have been, but I'm not so sure about it." Mycroft nodded, "Continue then, Stevens. I've got things I have to deal with, Anthea you take Jones and Smith to go check out my house." He handed her his umbrella, Anthea nodded._

Mycroft's shoulder's slumped and his head fell back, "Oh God, this is all my fault, I-" But, surprisingly, Sherlock cut him off, "There's no one to blame, but the culprit. Now, anything else? And how much more time?" Mycroft glanced at his watch, "Three hours, and then this morning…"

_Mycroft sat down at his laptop half thankful he didn't have to do anything, half annoyed that he couldn't do anything. Why did he have a thousand thing to do today? Oh, well. Mycroft decided to forget about it until Anthea came back, or Stevens had a new report. His phone bleeped the arrival of a new text message. It was form Anthea, but it wasn't. 'You've got four hours to find me and your assistant, or this gets to be her day to die. And bring cash. –GW' Damn! Mycroft realized what this meant. Anthea had been kidnapped._

"Right we're making progress, anything else?" Sherlock's voice had a hint of sarcasm in it. Mycroft wracked his brain. "Nothing of any importance." Sherlock now looked annoyed, "Think! There's always something" So Mycroft continued his account of his day previous to then.

_Mycroft stood and walked to where Stevens was, "Anthea's been kidnapped." He set the phone on Stevens' desk, who swore badly. At any other time or in any other situation, it would have gained a silent warning from Mycroft. But this wasn't a normal situation, and Mycroft didn't care. People had hardly even noticed Stevens' outburst, they were all used to it. Stevens' read the text while glancing back at the computer screen, trying to solve the security breech at the same time. "Do you know who GW is?" He asked. Mycroft shook his head-_

"You're wet." Mycroft looked up to stare at the person who'd spoken, "Lestrade," Sherlock took charge and explained the situation, "Anthea's been kidnapped, and Mycroft is failing at explaining what happened." Greg was surprised. "I wanna help." Sherlock and Mycroft spoke simultaneously; "Want to," Greg snorted, "Fine, I want to help." They gave him the details Mycroft had provided, when they finished, Mycroft continued his recount of that morning.

_Mycroft shook his head. Stevens sighed and sat back in his chair, not sure of what to do with the security breech or Anthea. Mycroft looked at his watch, "Four hours and forty-five minutes left." Stevens looked at him, "You go; I'll look for GW and alert you if I find anything of importance."_

Greg was looking thoughtful, "George Wells!" He exclaimed suddenly, "It's an alias for a criminal we've been searching for him for a while now. Nobody's ever come close to catching him though…. Right, no use standing here, we can go to Scotland Yard and look him up, you contact that Stevens, we're going to need to do some digging if we want to catch him."

_Anthea crept forward, keeping a hard grip on Mycroft's umbrella. Her eyes were trained on the spot she'd seen a flash of movement. A floorboard creaked and Anthea winced, so much for element of surprise. Anthea leapt forward, but the intruder was faster, "I'm the one with the sniper, so… I'd drop the umbrella." He had an Irish accent. Anthea dropped Mycroft's umbrella, and the intruder grinned, "Good! I rarely have such good behaved pets… Now, where's your phone? I've got to send a text to Big Brother."_

They arrived at the Yard quickly. Greg got a computer, and started searching for George Wells. All they could find -after a long search- were a few police reports with him as a suspect, which was no help in their current situation. Mycroft glanced at the bottom of the screen, "We've only got an hour and a half left." His voice was strained.

_Anthea was blindfolded and led to a different location. She had started calling this place Warehouse Five, representing the danger of the situation. She couldn't see thought the blindfold, and she was imagining the inside of the… Home? Whatever it was she imagined it like the inside of Warehouse Six, where you'd be sent to disappear. _

Mycroft's phone bleeped another message. "It's Stevens. ' I've located Anthea's phone at 272 Hope St. I know he wants us to find him. Bring money, just in case, also bring Umbrella 9. Be careful -JS.' Let's go then."

Around twenty minutes after she arrived at Warehouse Five, Anthea heard a ponding at the door.

"Hello? I know you're there, I see no use not opening the door." Mycroft! Her kidnapper chuckled, and she heard him opening the door. "I knew you'd come Mycroft!"

"I'm not giving you any money, take off the blindfold." Anthea's blindfold was slid off her, and got her first look at Warehouse Five, it was a home-cozy- but abandoned. She looked at Mycroft. He was wet, and he had another umbrella- but it was unused. He pointed it purposefully at her, Anthea saw a small hole in the end of it. _Air gun._

"As well as the gag." Anthea's gag was taken out of her mouth, but she didn't speak.

"Now untie her." Mycroft was acting like he normally did in Warehouse Six. Calm and cool. Her kidnapper obeyed. Anthea was relieved, but she just walked over to where Mycroft was standing, and stood there. Then her kidnapper spoke, "You know, I really don't care about the money. I just wanted to talk, so you can put away your umbrella-gun." He laughed, "Yes, I know it's an air gun. It's a very impressive decoy, but I guess it has to when you're the British Government. I've got a sniper trained on your girlfriend's head. Just for an extra incentive." Mycroft stiffened, but didn't speak, and set down his umbrella. Her kidnapper laughed again, "You two are the most obedient pets I've ever had. Except my sniper of course. For that I'll give you a name to work with. Jim. Now leave while you can. Leave the air gum, Mycroft." Mycroft and Anthea slowly backed out of the house. When they got outside Anthea sighed in relief, and turned to Mycroft, "Thank you."

_Moral: Mycroft does care. Sometimes._


	8. Mycroft Holmes- Sherlock

Looking back, Mycroft wouldn't have been able to guess what would happen that day. No one could've. It was one of those rare non-rainy days in London. Mycroft had been half-working on a presentation that he didn't want to give.

It was the day before and Mycroft's office (surprisingly) was a mess. Between Anthea leaving for her nephew, Nick's, wedding, and all of the other junk he had to deal with, he could hardly get from his desk to his door without stepping on a pile of papers. And because of all of this, Mycroft really needed coffee, but he was so engulfed in papers that he had no time to get it. With Sherlock getting arrested (sort of), and all of this stupid paperwork (Mycroft didn't become informal disaster control/British Government to do paper work!) he was swamped. Bu today was different. Mycroft was so immersed in papers that he was dead on his feet. Not quite lost yet, but closing in quickly. He had been at the stage in which he had no clue what to do, to the surprise of the common public. He thought back to the first time he'd been so lost, when Sherlock had phoned him at university, and told him that Mother had died the night before. He remembered his voice had been so cold and unnatural for an eleven year old. Either he hadn't cared about what he was saying, or he'd cared too much. Mycroft hoped it had been the latter. He smiled slightly remembering the next time, when Sherlock had rearranged all Mycroft's furniture- even swapping the carpet a few times –when Mycroft had forced him into rehab at his house. Then Mycroft grimaced, recalling the last two times; the Bond Air disaster with Irene Adler, and then the fiasco with Moriarty stealing the Crown Jewels. Little did Mycroft know that the very next day, he'd be more lost than he'd ever been- or would ever be- in his life.

Mycroft was half-working on a presentation that he didn't want to give. It was tedious, and he'd always hated doing presentations like this, and on top of that he had to smooth over the stupid things Sherlock was doing. Mycroft was trying (he really was) to get Sherlock to go home until Jim Moriarty was caught. Sherlock, of course, wouldn't listen to him, insisting on playing the hero and going out himself to get rid of Jim. Mycroft did realize that there was no way in the world that he'd get Sherlock to sit indoors while Jim was still out there. He also realized that Jim would never be caught unless it was Sherlock who did it. To tell the truth, Mycroft knew how it had to end, with one of them dead, but he could've never prepared himself for the truth. So when John opened the door, Mycroft knew what had happened, but nothing could've dampened the shock. Knowing what came, it was incredible that John had come to him to tell him the news. So he didn't have to find out through the papers. This was the reason he knew John was the right was only one question at this point.

"How?" Any other day before that, John would've marveled at Mycroft's expression, and how frightened he'd sounded. But today wasn't any other day. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath before responding,

"Saint Barts. He… He jumped, he told me that he was a-a fake, that he invented Moriarty. That the papers were right." Mycroft stared at the spot John had been standing long after he'd left the room. Mycroft closed his eyes, and bent his head down onto splayed fingers.

_Oh God,_ he thought,_ what have I done?_

_ Moral: …_


	9. Greg Lestrade- John

The Morals of one Gregory Lestrade

Lestrade wasn't someone to be completely and totally lost on what to do. Sure he'd been utterly _confused_, but not lost. Lestrade wasn't like that, he could handle things. There were things that he thought for sure he wouldn't be able to handle, but had gotten through in the end; like the death of his parents, then his best friend, and there'd been numerous cases that were inhuman and just appalling, and he'd never solved them. But Lestrade thought he'd never have to go through Sherlock's death, as he was older than Sherlock was, and Sherlock was just… Sherlock. He didn't just go and die on you. His bloody flat nearly exploded, and he didn't even _need_ medical attention, while Greg got paper cuts on a nearly daily basis. Okay fine, paper cuts might not be deadly or anything, but they hurt. It's not like he _wanted _the paper cuts or anything. Greg did tend to go on about stuff, ranting. But it's not like he just went on and on about the Chip and Pin machines like John did. But, seriously, they're not helpful, I mean you've got to scan your item a thousand times before it beeps it in, then it doesn't recognize you card, then you've got to use cash, but it won't accept the cash 'cause it's not perfectly bloody flat…! Okay, maybe he did go on about them. But back to Sherlock. Sherlock could be frustrating, and there were times Lestrade had wanted him banned from the Yard, but nothing like _this._ And John, poor, _poor_ John, John was affected the most. John… _knew_ Sherlock. Sherlock had disregarded their friendship as much as he had with Lestrade, but they were closer, and not just because they had a flat-share. Sherlock… trusted John. Looking back, Sherlock trusted John more than Greg had ever thought was possible with Sherlock. Not that Sherlock was untrustworthy, just… well, he was untrustworthy of others… and was untrustworthy himself, but that wasn't the point. John had been the one to tell Greg. Ever since Moriarty stole the crown jewels, Greg knew this was it. The Final Problem. That it had to end with one of them being dead. And somewhere, in the back of his head, Greg knew that it could end with Sherlock dead. And it did. As he knew in his head, once it happened, John would…. Die in his own way. Not really dead, but definitely not alive and well. The worst part was, Greg couldn't help him. Only John could. Suddenly, Sally's voice brought him out of his deep thoughts, "Sir?... I know what you're thinking about, and that's not going to help. Sherlock's dead. He's not coming back." This made Lestrade angry. "Yeah, I know that! Maybe he wouldn't be if you hadn't gone and… Just, out, get out! I don't want to see you! OUT!" Sally looked sympathetic, and left. Greg's anger was more likely to boil over on then it had ever been. It had been like this for a while now. Ever since…

_Bloody paperwork! Greg hated paperwork. He glanced up from it in time to see John coming in to the station. Greg, looking back at the papers beckoned him into his office. John was standing over him. Still looking down, Greg spoke, "John, could you tell Sherlock something for me? Tell him that he's an absolute-" Greg looked up at this point. John looked deflated. Greg knew. He knew that that tiny little bit of his brain had been right. It was possible. And it had happened. Greg at that very moment realized how vulnerable John had been in his position. Being Sherlock's friend. His best friend. There single person that Sherlock trusted. And in that position, John could have been hurt very badly. And he had been. Greg's pen, almost in slow motion dropped to the floor. The clattering made by it didn't reach Greg's ears. His eye's were wide with worry. "Sherlock… he, what… what happened…..?" John looked as though he was in pain saying the word. And he was. In pain. "At St. Barts, he… he told me that he… that he was a fake. He invented Moriarty. The papers… that the papers were. His final words were lies." John took a deep breath, and went on, "Greg, I'm sorry, he… you knew him longer, better-" Greg cut him off, and spoke in what seemed like distant noise. "No, I did know him longer, but definitely not better. You've always known him better. Always."_

_ Moral: Don't give me something depressing to write, or I will._


	10. Greg Lestrade- Coffee

Greg was tired. He'd been tired ever since last night, when Sherlock had forced him to go chasing a lead. And of course, that took all night, and he'd only gotten home a five in the morning. The worst part wasn't that he'd gotten back so late (early), it was that the coffee machine was crap. Greg wasn't exaggerating; either the coffee it produced was so watery that that it tasted like aforementioned water, or it was at a certain level of sludge that Greg thought that someone had to be messing with his head. Its name was Paul. Greg didn't know who'd come up with that, but it didn't matter, its name was Paul and that was that. Newbies were often a bit confused by people talking about Paul. They'd hear someone saying that Paul was stupid, or Paul can't get anything right, or Paul is sludgy today. Then they'd talk to Greg about it, saying they were concerned that his team was being unkind to some guy named Paul, and could you please do something about it. Then Greg would laugh and kindly tell them that Paul was the coffee machine and that Paul _is_ stupid. Then the newbie would walk out feeling stupid themselves. But the coffee machine was Paul, and that was that. Nobody (but the Newbies) questioned it. There was a jar next to Paul, with the label, _Spare change for Cappuccino machine. If you are caught taking money, YOU WILL BE ARRESTED (Seriously, this IS New Scotland Yard, and that would be stealing)._ Greg had probably put in about fifty pounds, all from spare change. But today, the machine was sludgy, and Greg didn't feel like adding the extra water to make it semi-normal, semi-good coffee, he was too lazy. So that's how Greg came to drinking/ eating/ spitting out the sludge coffee with the last of the frosted (not maple) doughnuts halfway stuffed in his mouth. Sally came in to tell him about some sort of case, somewhere. Something, blah, blah, blah...

"Shnort! Whazzu whaaaa? I comin' I-I-I'm coming Saaally! Aboo hoo!"_ Wow, when did I fall asleep? _Greg stood up and looked around. Sally wasn't there anymore. It seemed as though Sally had left after he'd fallen asleep. It also looked as if she'd taken away the coffee that he'd had absolutely no intention of actually drinking/eating/spitting out. _Oh, well… I hope that that wasn't anything important. It probably was. _

Greg blinked blearily. He sighed sleepily, and pulled himself up in his chair. He stretched and tried to stand. He didn't succeed, slumping back into his chair. Greg decided he was more useful asleep than just sitting there with nothing to do and no intention to do anything. Anderson opened the door loudly enough to make Greg wake up and not fall back asleep this time. Greg didn't like this, he'd much prefer being peacefully asleep. "Anderson! You idiot, go away! I don't care about whatever you have to say right now!" Greg made a shooing motion with his hand, while Anderson stood slightly stunned at the door. Greg glared at him "Go! Or are you really so stupid that you can't understand that one simple command? I'm seriously starting to wonder in Sherlock was right about you!" At this Anderson scampered out of Greg's office. For a moment he wondered whether he was being a bit too harsh with Anderson, but soon stopped, and just snuggled down into his chair to go back to sleep before it was truly time to wake up again.

_Moral: Don't wake up Greg when Sherlock's been dragging him around all night._

**A/N: Sorry, I uploaded all of these stories all at once then just dropped out of the habit! Sorry. I would make up some sort of excuse, but seriously, I was lazy.**


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